


C-O-Double M-O-N

by AdessoFaSilenzio



Category: Eerie Crests (Webcomic)
Genre: Blake doesn't make it out alive., Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10357452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdessoFaSilenzio/pseuds/AdessoFaSilenzio
Summary: On a clear night in Blue Crests, Oregon, Blake lies in the outfield and reminisces. The world fades away.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First thing I've written in months. Meant to be read with this playing in the background: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_wdKxvOQbM
> 
> If Blake is the reason for the "major character death" warning.

His wasn't a story with a happy ending.

On all accounts, Blake figured he was too young to die. Too inexperienced, too green, too... He had so much love left to give. Not that Death gave one singular shit about that, of course.

It started with music - like piano keys mixing with the _swish, swish, swish_ sound of his blood pumping in his ears. These were the only sounds he could hear. He knew if he bothered turning to the right he would see Margolin, all but screaming at him to stay awake as they carried him away from the woods and toward... he assumed it was the baseball field. Blake had never paid attention to the fact that Blue Crests was filled to the brim with trees, their outstretched limbs brushing every single part of the town like lovers on a silent night.

Although he knew Margo was screaming (and probably crying, the annoying little sap,) he couldn't hear more than his own body beginning to shut down, piano lilting somewhere in the distance. It had been a bumpy ride out of the forest, what with Margo and Poppy trying their best to get him out as fast as possible. And when they tried to set him on the ground, well. It felt more like slamming, causing him to cough up blood at the same time it spurted like a damn fountain from the wound in his chest.

Of course, the first thing he thought about was sex. 

He and Malek hadn't been the most healthy relationship, definitely not, but the highs outweighed the lows so much it had made Blake bitter when they'd broken up. Tan skin, chocolate waves of hair... they filled his wistful mind, ghost of a scent wafting on the air and melding with memories of open mouthed kissing. They'd been passionate in both the right and _wrong_ ways. Private smiles and deft fingers strumming gently over steel strings (over olive skin). That one time Blake had thrown a plate at Malek and his mom lost her _shit_ on him. Yeah... they'd had good times. And he knew they'd been close to finding him - the missing boy of Blue Crests, Oregon. The grave with an unfamiliar body. It was why the traps had been set, after all. He was sure of it.

Blake had stepped on something hidden in the brush, and by the time he'd realized it he'd had what looked like a throwing knife buried directly in his chest. The look of shock on Poppy and Margo's faces almost made him laugh. The fuck up of a lifetime! Or, maybe the fuck up to _end_ a lifetime.

It was a surprise just how fast they could be, considering they were carrying his almost-dead weight and the fact that they had no idea where more traps had been placed. But they'd made it. Somehow they had managed to get him to the outfield. Why wasn't there a fence here?? Stupid football team got all the athletics budget, probably.

What was Ty going to think of this? Would he blame Margo? Poppy?? Blake had gone with them of his own accord, convinced by Margolin's frantic denial that the boy lowered in the ground had been Mal's. He had to be out there somewhere. They'd followed the deer that Margo _insisted_ had eight, no twelve, no _twenty_ pairs of eyes...

Blake hadn't seen any deer to begin with.

Speaking of Tyler... the memory of his best friend filled his mind. Careful check-ins and quick texts of "u ok?" and glances shared from across the lunch table. Ah, those blond curls... his lips quirked upward as he remembered pulling one (gently, so gently) and watching it spring back into place. The stars were bright in the sky, and he was starting to feel cold. They'd been wasted on boxed wine and cheap beer that Ty had acquired via the use of his fake ID. Blake had been lamenting about La rosa de Guadalupe and how American soap operas couldn't even _begin_ to understand the complexity of human emotion like Rosa could. Tyler was laughing, eyes screwed shut and head tossed back, and Blake hadn't had the self control necessary to _not_ reach out and pull one of those curls.

It had ended in drunkenly making out, and though they never brought it up again Blake had found himself thinking of that night fervently whenever he had a moment alone. He wondered now what opportunities he had missed (and would miss in the future he no longer had.)

Margo grabbed his right hand, bringing his attention out of the constellations and back to the present. It was a place he desperately did _not_ want to be. And suddenly he could hear _everything_. The sound of leaves being displaced by the wind. Poppy trying her hardest not to sniffle and failing. Her hand gripped his left bicep with a strength he was surprised she had. He could hear Margo whimpering and apologizing under his breath.

Damn, he loved this kid.

It was a revelation he probably could've died without having had, but man did fate or god or whatever have a sense of _humor_. It obviously wasn't a romantic sort of love. Gross. Dallas had perpetual bags under his eyes and a crooked nose (thanks to his own fist). Definitely not the kind of beauty that drew Blake in in more than a "if we were the last two on earth" sort of way. But... maybe he shouldn't have been so hostile? They were all suffering in their own ways, especially now that Malek was gone. He shouldn't have treated the poor kid like he had.

"Margo." Blake turned his eyes away and focused again on the stars. His sight was blurry; when had he started crying? Traitorous tear ducts. "It's not your fault."

And Poppy, man, she was great. She was tough as nails and kept basically the entire team in line. Unapologetic and strong and completely fearless. He didn't want to look at her now; he knew exactly what he would see on her face, and he couldn't handle watching someone he looked up to break like that. He continued to watch the sky as it grew black instead.

Blake wasn't afraid of the dark. If anything, he'd been drawn to it, always wanting to know what mysteries lurked in its depths. Now he supposed he knew. He squeezed Dallas' hand with as much strength as he had, feeling the warm flow of blood as it trickled from the side of his mouth. No more words would leave his lips, no more stars would light his eyes. He wanted to say he was sorry, that he should've been more careful. He should've been nicer - he should've been less _awful_.

With a knife still in his chest, Blake tuned out all outside noise and listened to the call of that piano. Why wasn't it a guitar, or a ukelele? Why a piano?? He thought of the documentary on Quelea he and Ben had watched after smoking entirely too much weed. They kept pointing out which birds looked like them, the other, their friends. He would never get high again. He wouldn't graduate high school. He was so sorry. _So, so sorry_.

The blood pooled around Blake's torso as his hand went limp in Dallas', staining his and Poppy's jeans an orangish-red that was never going to come out. The tears stopped as abruptly as they had come, and his blank eyes stared, unseeing, at the clear night around them. It was Poppy who screamed first, the sound ripping itself from her throat as she lost yet another friend. Unbeknownst to Blake, Dallas pulled her in over his warm body, grabbing her with white knuckles and holding her as they sobbed over him. Margo never even let his hand go, just clutched it between them.

All in all, it was a pretty good way to go. Just as dramatic as he would have wanted it to be. The writers of Rosa would have been proud.


End file.
